


Temps Perdu

by elaine



Series: Soldier Boy [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim finds something in Blair's room that brings back memories of an earlier meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temps Perdu

_Cascade 1997_

“Dammit, Sandburg, even my niece is better at picking up after herself.” Jim placed another academic journal precariously on top of the pile he was balancing in the crook of  his left arm. “When you come home, I swear…”

He never got to finish his pointless threat as the pile wobbled dangerously. He grabbed hastily to stem the avalanche, but with limited success. Jim stared down at the papers tumbled around his feet and sighed heavily. Best to dump the ones he still had and come back for the rest, he thought.

It wasn’t often that Jim went into Blair’s room, or Blair into his. The two of them had little enough privacy without an open door policy. It seemed pretty much the same as the last time he’d been inside – a little dingy and dark, a lot dusty – and Jim wasted no time in dumping the journals on Blair’s bed.

The next load, Jim scattered across Blair’s desk then, with a sense of petty satisfaction, he piled the third load on top of some books that were on top of a small wooden box – the kind Jim’s mother had kept old photos in that she didn’t have room for (or, maybe, didn’t want) in the photo albums. Unsurprisingly, the whole thing fell over with a crash; and the box opened, sending an assortment of photos, greeting cards, and other bits and pieces across the floor.

At that point, Jim’s conscience inconveniently asserted itself. These things were, presumably, Blair’s treasured possessions, and he couldn’t just leave them lying there where they might get trampled on if Blair came home late and didn’t turn on the light. Which he would only do if he were worried about disturbing Jim’s sleep…

Jim’s shoulders slumped.

He was such an asshole; and such a damned pushover when it came to Sandburg. Muttering under his breath, Jim started picking up the little plastic toys and bits of cheap jewellery that Blair wouldn’t be seen dead in now, but obviously couldn’t bring himself to throw away. The photos he left till last – they were easy enough to see that he couldn’t possibly stand on them by accident.

The photos – he couldn’t help glancing, who could have? – were mostly of scenery. Jungles, beaches, mountains; places Sandburg had been, obviously. There was a blurry shot of a grinning Blair in body paint and not much more, surrounded by a group of similarly painted tribesmen who made even Sandburg look tall. There was…

Jim’s vision went haywire, all of a sudden, zooming in way too far, then blurring, before greying out to a misty emptiness. He got it under control with a conscious effort and forced himself to look, really  _look_  at the ragged Polaroid, because it couldn’t possibly be…

It was.

The photo was blurred and grainy, but there was no doubt it was him – a very young him – bare-chested and asleep in a narrow bed. God, even with the military cut, he’d had so much more hair then, he thought, irrelevantly. His fingers were trembling. How could Blair – how could  _anyone_  – have taken this photo?

It slipped from his fingers, and instead of leaving it there and running, which was what he wanted to do, Jim bent down to pick it up again. His fingers felt numb, and it took three attempts to get hold of it. He stared down at it again, his mind blank.

***

Three hours later, he remembered. The time frame was pretty clear, once he started thinking rationally about it. The hair and the dogtags gave him a starting point, and the youthful, relaxed face told him he couldn’t have been in the military for very long. That put him firmly in the mid ‘Eighties. In the mid ‘Eighties, Blair had been in his mid-teens; in ‘Eighty-five, he’d come to Cascade to study at Rainier.

He’d been sixteen then. Jim had been twenty-three. Stomach clenching, Jim forced himself to follow where the logic was leading him. In ‘Eighty-five, he’d shipped out on his first overseas mission – to Soviet-occupied Afghanistan, one of the many missions he’d never be able to tell anyone about – and he’d been given four days leave to visit his family.

But the last thing he’d wanted to do was see his Dad, or Steven. He’d made it as far as Cascade and then… Jesus! The memories came crashing over him – that skinny kid. His name  _had_  been Blair. Blair  _Sandburg_. God, he could even hear that thin, young voice, cocky as all get-out. How could he have forgotten  _that_?

The answer came easily enough. While he’d been with Blair, it had all seemed so natural, so right – even though he’d protested, he hadn’t  _really_  felt it was wrong. He’d simply been repeating what he’d known to be true – sex with a sixteen year old  _was_  illegal. And, fuck... it had been good, some of the best sex he’d ever had before or since. But afterwards… the guilt had started then, and he’d felt worse the further away he got from Blair’s presence. He’d willingly allowed the horrors of Afghanistan to sweep away his memories of that encounter, and not even meeting Blair again had brought them back to him.

Jim stared down at the photo in his hand. Blair had kept it all these years, so  _he_  obviously knew who Jim was. Why hadn’t he said anything? He felt his heart lurch and begin to beat hard. What game was Blair playing? Was this just another chapter in that damned dissertation?

It wasn’t a good time for Jim to hear the asthmatic sputtering of Blair’s car taking the corner onto Prospect. He’d be home in just a couple more minutes and Jim was  _not_  ready to deal with this. He gave the photo one more narrow-eyed, suspicious glare before slipping it into his shirt pocket and rising from the couch to continue the long-interrupted cleanup.

Subconsciously, he was tracking Blair’s progress – the slow trudge of his feet on the stairs, the slightly quicker, happier tempo as Blair made his way down the hall to their door. He was just straightening up, the last handful of journals clutched against his chest, when Blair opened the door.

“Hi, Jim… oh, hey, you didn’t have to…” Blair’s eyes widened as he took in the empty spaces where his belongings had been. “I would have…”

“Eventually, yeah, but I got sick of waiting.” And that was good, Jim thought. He had a perfect excuse, hell, a perfect  _right_  – a duty, even – to be pissed with Blair that didn’t have anything to do with that damn photo. “Next time, all this crap’s going in the dumpster, you hear me, Sandburg?”

Blair’s face went very still and wary. He took a moment to turn and close the door behind him, while Jim came slowly to the realisation that he’d overplayed his hand. “What’s up, Jim? You don’t usually get this bent out of shape over a few journals. Besides, I told you this morning I’d clean up when I got home.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d be this late. I don’t want to sit around in your damn mess.” Even Jim could hear the desperation in his own voice.

Blair’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me, that’s your choice.” He came over and grabbed the journals out of Jim’s hands. “Just don’t lay it on me, okay? I am  _so_  not in the mood.”

Now was the time for Jim to back off. To offer a non-committal ‘had a bad day, Chief?’ or something along those lines, and let things return to normal. Instead, he said angrily, to Blair’s departing back, “Pardon me if I don’t appreciate coming home to a pigsty. This is  _my_  home, Sandburg.”

And now he really had gone too far. Blair’s shoulders stiffened and he turned back to face Jim. “Funny, I thought it was  _our_  home. If you want me out, just say so.”

“No!” The situation was spiralling out of control. Jim took a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t want you to leave, okay? I just…” except, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe it would be better if Blair  _did_  move out. How could they live together now, with him knowing what he did? And, worse,  _not_  knowing what Blair’s motives were.

But the thought of living here alone – and god, not having Blair working with him, because how could he? How could he continue to have anything to do with Blair when  _this_  lay between them?

Jim took a deep breath and let it out. It could still end up that way, but at least then he’d know. Might know, if he could trust Blair’s answers at all. He dragged the photo out of his pocket and held it up in shaking fingers. “I found this.”

He saw the shock on Blair’s face. The way his pupils widened, and a sudden glistening of sweat on his upper lip. The spike of his heartbeat. But for once, Blair was silent.

“I remembered. When I saw it.” His voice, hoarse and shaking, seemed to come from somewhere other than his own throat. “Did you know who I was that day you came to the hospital? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It wasn’t what he’d intended to say, and he saw Blair blink in confusion; but his voice was steady enough when he answered. “No, I didn’t know. Believe it or not, you weren’t the first James Ellison I’d come across since… since then.”

Not the hint of a spike in his heartbeat. Truth, then. Jim held back a sigh of relief. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…” Blair’s tongue flickered over his lower lip, “it really threw me, you know, seeing you. And I could tell straight away that you didn’t know who I was.” He smiled weakly. “Jim, you  _know_  me. I’m not usually that incoherent.”

Well, that was true enough. Sandburg could usually be relied on to have a good line of bullshit for every occasion. And later, in Blair’s office, he’d been even more off the wall – to the degree that Jim had suspected him of being on drugs.

So it was in a much milder tone of voice that Jim remarked, “there’s been plenty of opportunity since then.”

“Yeah, well… Blair scrubbed at his face, and Jim could see the minute tremors in his hands. “I guess I never felt like there was a good time to tell you about… well, you know.”

“I know.” He felt that sick, churning sensation in his gut again. He kept seeing that skinny kid, remembering the feel and taste of him, the things he’d done to Blair and allowed Blair to do to him. How good it had all felt. And that only made him feel worse about it. “Jesus, Blair… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I didn’t think… I never meant to…”

“What are you talking about?” Open confusion on Blair’s face now. “You think I didn’t want it as much as you did? I’m the one who came on to you, remember.”

“You were sixteen, a minor. I was twenty-three.” Just saying it made him feel even sicker. Jim forced himself to continue, “There’s a name for what I did…”

“Stop it!” Blair’s vehemence stopped him mid sentence. His hands shot out and grabbed the front of Jim’s shirt, bunching white-knuckled in the fabric. For a moment Jim thought Blair was going to hit him, but he shoved Jim away again and stumbled back out of reach. “Don’t you dare say it, Jim. Don’t you  _fucking dare_.”

He’d seen Blair angry before, maybe a handful of times. He’d never seen him furious. After a tense moment, Jim managed to drag his jaw back up from somewhere around his knees. He swallowed painfully. How had his throat gotten so raw, so tight? “You were just a kid. I took advantage…”

“No. You didn’t, Jim. Okay, I was under age, but I knew what I wanted.” Blair took a hesitant step towards him, his hand lifting to touch Jim’s arm.

“You don’t sleep with men.” Jim said flatly, and Blair froze. “I’d know if you did. So don’t tell me you wanted it. I don’t believe you.”

“Jim…”

“No.” Suddenly, the tension between them was more than he could bear. “I can’t deal with this, Chief. I’m gonna… I need to get out for a while.”

“Please, Jim, you don’t have to…”

He brushed past Blair, shoving the Polaroid into his hand, snatched up his jacket and keys and was out the door. 

***

Jim had been parked at the lookout for maybe thirty minutes before the patrol car arrived. He should probably have expected that – it was a hangout for horny teenagers, after all, though not usually on a weeknight. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed before winding down the window.

The uniform was an older guy, experienced enough to be wary of approaching a man sitting by himself in a notorious make-out spot. Jim waited until he was close to the truck before saying calmly, “I’m just gonna get my ID, okay?”

The cop nodded, his flashlight trained on Jim’s face. He accepted the ID, and hesitated a moment longer before glancing down at it. Smart cop. He returned Jim’s ID and badge with a friendly smile. “Thought you looked familiar. Major Crime, right?”

“That’s right.” Jim waved his hand vaguely. “Sorry about the false alarm. I just…”

“I get it.” He nodded sympathetically, half turned to wave a reassuring hand to his partner and then turned back to Jim. “Sometimes you just gotta get away from everything.”

“Yeah.” Jim spared a moment to wonder what the hell he was talking to this guy for. If he told him exactly why he was here...  _Jesus_ … statutory rape. He could just imagine the uproar. He wouldn’t be arrested, it was far too long ago for that, but the story would be all over Central in minutes. Simon would be called in. And Blair… Blair would certainly refuse to corroborate his story. And would never, ever forgive him.

It occurred to Jim that he desperately needed Blair to forgive him.

Perhaps recognising that Jim wasn’t in the mood to talk, the cop shrugged. “Still, it’s always good to have someone to go back to. You got anyone, Detective Ellison?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, he had nobody. But that just wasn’t true, was it? He had Blair – Blair who spent hours finding organic this and hypoallergenic that. Who cooked for him to make sure he ate healthy foods, who spent long nights with him on stakeouts, making sure he didn’t zone, rambling on about expeditions to Borneo and Kenya and Fiji just to fill the silence. Who watched his back, on the job and off…

Blair might not be the kind of someone – wife, lover – that this guy was talking about, but he definitely qualified as a ‘someone’. Someone to go back to.

“Yeah. Yeah, I have.” A faint smile came to Jim’s face. God only knew what this guy would think if he knew that Jim’s ‘someone’ was a short, hairy anthropologist. He started the truck’s engine. “I guess I’d better be going home. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“No bother. It’s a nice spot.” The cop lifted a hand in farewell as Jim backed up and turned for the exit. In the rear view mirror Jim saw him walking towards the patrol car, shaking his head.

***

The loft was in darkness when he got home. He could hear the sound of Blair breathing; slowly, but not slowly enough for him to be asleep. Blair didn’t call out or come out to meet him and Jim could only feel relief. He still didn’t know what to do with this new information about their past, but he knew he didn’t want to lose Blair’s friendship.

He went quietly upstairs and stripped for bed. Then, lying with his hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the night sky through the skylight, he allowed himself to think about tomorrow. Maybe in the morning they could talk. Blair had no classes until the afternoon, and Jim could call in to work and say he’d be late. Simon wouldn’t mind; things were quiet right now and he had too much time owed to him for that to be a problem.

Still had no idea what he was going to say, though. An apology, he supposed… except that Blair always saw through his bullshit, and although he  _was_  sorry for the way he’d reacted, he still couldn’t help feeling that he was right all the same.

Desperately, he tried running a few scenarios through his mind, but ever damned one of them ended in him walking out, or Blair shouting, or him shoving Blair. Or Blair walking out, giving up on him. Giving up on them. And it would be no more than he deserved…

“…why I don’t sleep with men, Jim?” Blair’s voice drifted up from the room below, and Jim realised he’d been talking, whisper quiet, for a while. “Yeah, it’s because of you. Because of what we did…”

Suddenly, Jim’s heart was pounding against his ribs. His mouth was dry, his muscles tensed in expectation of a blow. That it would be verbal rather than physical made no difference.

“…not the way you think, man.” Blair chuckled softly. “I tried a few times – different guys – but after you?  _Major_  disappointment, Jim. I could get more out of my right hand. Especially if I think about…” there was a rustling sound, and then the faint rasp, achingly familiar, of skin against skin, slow and rhythmic. Jim swallowed, unable to believe the evidence of his own ears.

But a deep breath bought all the confirmation he needed, and his cock stiffened a little.

“So, yeah, I’ve pretty much stuck to women since then. Less baggage, you know?” More rustling sounds and a soft, ragged sigh. “But even when I’m with a woman, I just have to think about you and, bang, I’m gone. Just… just,  _gone_ …”

If he thought about doing it, Jim wouldn’t have dared; so he didn’t think, just eased himself out of bed and padded down the stairs in his boxers. Blair must have heard him coming, but his voice betrayed no sign and Jim followed the sound like a homing beacon to Blair’s bedroom door.

He paused, then, as the enormity of what he was about to do fell heavy across his shoulders. It was obvious enough what  _Blair_  wanted, but was he really ready to let go of the past and move forward? There was only one way to find out; Jim lifted his hand and pushed the door open.

The siren call of Blair’s voice fell silent. He was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the wall, his legs sprawling open, half tangled in the covers. One hand moved still, inside his boxers, the other fell away from his bare chest to rest against the mattress. He looked at Jim, not smiling, just… wary.

This close, the scent of arousal was overwhelming, and familiar. For a moment the man on the bed was overlaid with a younger version of himself – skinny and eager, his eyes shining with lust and excitement and wonder. How could he have forgotten that kid?

Blair’s eyes flickered over him, and Jim wondered if it was possible for Blair to see the evidence of his arousal in the shadows by the door. Probably not; the light from Blair’s lamp barely reached halfway to the door.

 “Jim?” Nervousness roughened Blair’s voice, making it deeper, more resonant. The sound rasped over Jim’s skin, raising bumps as every hair on his body stood up. “You want to come in?”

He went to Blair then, and cupped his face between his hands. Letting them linger there as he’d never allowed himself to do before. All those touches, those intimate little face pats; it had all been there for him to see, and he hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t  _wanted_  to see it.

Blair smiled shakily, lips parting, and Jim dropped down onto the bed, straddling Blair’s legs. But still he held back, searching Blair’s face; for what he didn’t know. The skin heated against his palm, and Blair’s eyes darted apprehensively from Jim’s mouth to his eyes, to the dark space behind his shoulder.

He obviously had something he wanted to say, and Jim knew that, come Hell or high water, he was going to say it. Jim sighed, defeated before the battle had even begun. “You might as well spit it out, Sandburg.”

“All right. Since you insist.” Amusement gleamed briefly, replacing apprehension in Blair’s eyes. But then his face clouded over and he sighed. “I’ve been thinking about this all night… trying to see it from your perspective. And… I know I was just a kid, okay? And maybe you’re right and I was too young to make those choices. And maybe we shouldn’t have…” The pink tip of Blair’s tongue flickered over his lower lip, while Jim’s chest clenched in pain and grief. “But, Jim, I really need you to hear this… I’m not a kid now, and I promise… I  _promise_  you, man, I don’t have any regrets. None at all.”

“But…” It couldn’t be that easy. He wasn’t ready for absolution. Not yet.

“No. Please, Jim.” Blair’s fingers covered his lips and Jim fell obediently silent. “Those two days I spent with you, they were two of the best days of my  _life_. You gave me… I never told you at the time, but I’d never…” Blair’s eyes closed for a moment and his larynx bobbed sharply as he swallowed. “It was the most incredible… the best first time anybody could ever hope for, you know? You gave me that gift.”

“Jesus, Blair…” He leaned forward, irresistibly drawn, as he always had been, moth to Blair’s flame. And then he hesitated, some tiny hint of doubt still remaining, until Blair tilted his face up and lifted a hand to Jim’s cheek, to guide him that last little bit.

Their lips brushed and clung for just a moment, and Jim wondered… could this work, could it  _really_  work? Or would it just be one more disaster in the ongoing train wreck of his love life? He’d tried this with guys – before Blair and after – and it had never felt right the way it had with Blair.

There’d been the desperate and clumsy fumble with his football team’s star quarterback the year he was fifteen. Fuelled more by adolescent horniness than any real attraction, it had been embarrassing and left him trembling in terror at the thought of being caught out.

Later, after Blair, he’d traded off hand and blowjobs a few times. It had served to satisfy a physical need, but no more than that, and it hadn’t taken him long to decide it wasn’t worth the risk of court martial and a dishonourable discharge. He’d buried those urges so deep his cock hadn’t so much as twitched all the times he’d seen Blair coming out of the bathroom in his shorts or a towel – or occasionally naked, when he forgot the towel.

What the Hell was he doing, trying to rekindle something that had died a long time ago... especially with  _his_  track record? He must be fucking insane. But Blair was watching him, nervous and hopeful, and the longing in that expressive face brought a lump to his throat. Blair  _wanted_  this.  _He_  wanted it. But he’d learned not to trust those feelings, and now… he couldn’t just walk away from this without even trying.

It started out awkwardly enough, both of them long out of practice at kissing another man. Both of them trying to be in control. Slowly, Blair’s lips softened against Jim’s as Blair submitted, for the moment at least, with a little groan of pleasure.

He gave full reign to his senses, then; his tongue sliding deep into Blair’s mouth, exploring tastes and textures. Feeling the vibration of Blair’s moans against his chest, his jaw, his fingertips. When the sensations threatened to overwhelm him, Jim slowly, reluctantly drew back. He brushed his lips delicately over Blair’s once more, then set about following the contours of his face, finding the little spot behind Blair’s ear that made him gasp and wriggle. Pressing his lips to the pulse throbbing low on Blair’s throat.

“Jim! Ah, god, man… you’re killing me here.” One hand distractedly petted the back of Jim’s head, the other, Jim suddenly realised, lay trapped between their bodies, resting on Blair’s cock inside his boxers.

“Don’t stop.” Jim pecked a tiny kiss on the corner of Blair’s open mouth, sucked on his lower lip for a moment. He glanced down involuntarily between their bodies and heat surged in his groin. Jesus. He hadn’t felt like this in years. “Please… I want you to…”

A soft chuckle sent pleasure ricocheting through him. “You mean this?” And Blair’s hand moved between them, the backs of his knuckles brushing against Jim’s belly. “Don’t know how long I can last, Jim.”

He moaned, and buried his face, panting, in Blair’s unruly curls. “Just… don’t stop.” Even when he couldn’t feel it directly, the subtle shifts in Blair’s body told Jim Blair was continuing to stroke himself, but he wanted to feel more. His fingers swept over the smooth skin of Blair’s side, down past his waist, and clutched Blair’s hip through the crumpled, sweat-damp flannel.

Blair’ breathing hitched as Jim slid the thin cloth against the flexing muscles. And when Jim bit down, lightly, on his shoulder a moan forced its way out of Blair’s taut throat, setting his larynx bobbing sharply. Jim smiled, licking the spot a couple of times before proceeding southwards.

It was a riot of sensations that greeted him – the coarseness of Blair’s chest hair clinging wetly to his skin, the sharp, crinkled bump of an erect nipple. Jim nosed at it, breathing heavily – and, oh  _god_ , the heady reek of Blair’s arousal – before capturing the nut-brown peak between his lips.

“ _Jim_! Jesus…” Blair’s body arched against his, the muscles of his hip and thigh flexing beneath Jim’s greedy fingers. His hand, on the back of Jim’s neck, tightened possessively, pressing impatiently downwards.

The closer he got to Blair’s groin the more redolent the aura of arousal became – stronger, with complexities in the scent that he could spend hours teasing apart, analysing. But why would he? Blair might want him to do it one day, he thought with a little grin. But not today, he was quite certain.

A sharp little knock against the underside of his chin surprised him for a moment, then Jim realised it was Blair’s hand, still moving on his cock. Not so steadily now, nor so slowly, and his belly quivered with each laboured breath. Blair was close to losing control, while still valiantly trying to give Jim what he wanted.

“Soon, babe,” Jim murmured, lovingly stroking the inside of one thigh. “Just hold on a little bit longer.”

For the space of a couple of heartbeats, he watched the movement of Blair’ hand inside his boxers. From a distance of inches, his eyes followed each jerky caress. When he thought he’d got the rhythm memorised, Jim lowered his head carefully, nuzzling around Blair’s balls, along the crease of his groin, licking and kissing through damp cloth that provided only the flimsiest of barriers to his senses.

Blair’s hand faltered, then took up the rhythm again. The soft, high-pitched whine that escaped his throat was testimony to the effort he was making. He was trembling uncontrollably now, his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes almost closed – only a faint glitter betrayed that he was watching Jim avidly.

It wasn’t so hard to anticipate Blair’s movements, when nothing else in the world existed for him. His head weaved and bobbed above Blair’s groin as he stole delicious, darting little kisses from under Blair’ stroking hand. But the soft fuzziness of the flannel couldn’t possibly be as pleasurable as the slick touch of skin. Only the anticipation was making this delay worthwhile, and suddenly, Jim had had enough anticipation.

He fought to control the shaking of his fingers as he unfastened the boxers, peeling the now clinging cloth aside. For a moment, Jim froze, mesmerised by the sight of Blair’s cock, hard and darkly flushed, gleaming over half its length with the precome that also coated Blair’s fingers.

A clear pearl gathering in the slit held his attention – not a zone, not quite – until it spilled over, trickling across the swollen cockhead to be swept aside with a thoughtless flick of Blair’s thumb. Jim swooped down to capture what remained, his tongue sliding indiscriminately over fingers and cock alike.

“ _God_!” One harshly bitten off word. That was what he’d reduced Blair to. That and the abortive jerk of his hips against Jim’s restraining hand.

He ought to take pity on Blair. Ought to; but he wouldn’t, yet.

Gradually the hit and run kisses evolved into something more lingering. Blair’s hand slowed until it lay at rest, lightly against the base of his cock, so Jim could have uninterrupted access. And Jim took full advantage, his tongue sliding luxuriously over the gnarly vein-threaded shaft. He traced the neat ridge of the glans with the pointed tip of his tongue and swabbed the slick, smooth cockhead, finishing with a lingering, sucking kiss.

Jim glanced up, wanting to be sure Blair was still watching. He was, his face a taut mask, his lip bitten to a dark crimson pout. Slowly, never taking his eyes off Blair’s face, Jim lowered his head and closed his lips around Blair’s cock.

Memories flooded back then, in almost excruciatingly sharp detail. Doing this with Blair… the narrow hips held between his palms, the eager jabbing thrusts. Jim groaned around Blair’s cock, and above his head Blair groaned too, the sound ragged and desperate.

Last time he’d been too inexperienced to do more than suck awkwardly, but since then he’d learned a few things, before he – like Blair, apparently – had decided that the promise always outstripped the actual rewards. He felt a warning throb against his tongue and tightened his lips around the shaft.

Beneath his hands, Blair jerked and twitched, trying desperately to thrust but unable to move. Jim took his cock deeper, sucked harder, determined to drive him over the edge before his own arousal became too insistent to ignore.

“Jim… fuck,  _Jim_ …” Blair hand’s clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging painfully into muscle and bone. “Oh,  _god_ …” His hips jerked up and Jim was powerless to hold him back any longer. “ _Jesus_!” His cock pulsed, sharp and urgent, sending swirls of come over Jim’s tongue.

All Jim could do was to ride it out until Blair shuddered beneath his hands and slumped back against his pillows, breathing hard. He allowed Blair’s softening cock to slide from between his lips, but couldn’t resist the urge to plant a tender kiss on the thick curve of his shaft. Blair shivered, his breath slowing gradually, and opened his eyes.

“Wow… Jim that was…” He blinked lazily, “that was… just… wow…”

Jim leaned forward to kiss him, bluntly pushing his way past climax-softened lips. His cock brushed against Blair’s thigh and the jolt of pleasure it gave him almost threatened to overwhelm him. He groaned into Blair’s mouth and couldn’t resist rubbing a little more firmly against him.

Already, Blair was showing renewed interest. He attacked Jim’s mouth mashing their lips together in short, wet, dirty kisses, his tongue pushing insistently past Jim’s lips, then retreating. The burn of his whiskers sent piercing jolts of sensation through Jim’s body. He pulled back, fighting for control, knowing it was a losing battle.

It was hard enough just to breathe, right now; he closed his eyes, shuddering, reaching for dials that were all over the place. And when he opened them again Blair’s face was all he could see.

“God, Jim… you… you’re…” Blair swallowed, his hands fluttering restlessly before settling on the waistband of Jim’s boxers. “You want me to…”

Oh  _god_ , yes, but… “”Don’t think I can last that long.” He lunged forward again as Blair’s eyes widened, the pupils dilating until there was only a thin circle of blue. Only the distraction of Blair’ lips against his was keeping him from losing it.

He felt Blair’s sticky fingers brush against his belly, fumbling with his shorts, and then the shorts were falling loose around his hips, shoved out of the way, his fingers tangling with Blair’s in their haste. Blair’s hands were on his hips; big, strong hands. Clutching, greedy fingers that would leave marks, pulling him forward until his cock was driving against the slick skin and damp-matted hair of Blair’s groin.

A couple of quick, desperate thrusts, that was all, and then Jim buried his face against the side of Blair’s throat. Surrounded by Blair’s body, his scent, his voice muttering lewd encouragement, Jim willingly ceded control to his body’s demands.

Drifting, lazily aware, in a vague sort of way, that he was lying against Blair’s chest, Jim felt no immediate inclination to shake off the sensual fog that surrounded him. It was almost the opposite of a zone – all his senses were engaged, but so intermingled he couldn’t distinguish sight from sound from taste. It wasn’t overpowering, was even rather pleasant.

Slowly, Jim became aware of sticky fingers painting random patterns on his back. Then the clamour of Blair’s heartbeat beneath his chest. He sighed and nuzzled closer, feeling the tickle of hair against his cheek and inhaling the warm, faintly rank scent of Blair’s sweat,  _his_  sweat; and sex. Connections fired in his brain and Jim reached, grabbing Blair’s wrist with unerring accuracy and bringing Blair’s hand up to his face.

He snuffled into the broad palm for a moment – an appetiser worth savouring – then slowly licked a long finger thinly coated with precome. A gasp, and a heightening of the heartbeat told him Blair’s appreciation more clearly than words. Satisfied, Jim sucked each finger in turn, pausing occasionally to slide his tongue over the sensitive webbing between.

The vibrations beneath his cheek, the soft puffs of air against his skin gradually began to resolve into actual sound. “… _so_  not true. This is way,  _way_  better than I remembered, Jim. I mean, _light_  years better… and, man, you’re not hearing a word I’m saying, are you, Jimbo?”

“I’m hearing enough to know that if you call me Jimbo again, you’ll be on kitchen duty for the next month.” Jim grinned as Blair’s chuckle resonated through his whole body. He could feel Blair’s smile against his temple, then a soft kiss. “I’m… I’m sorry, Blair. For the way I acted before…”

“Shh.” Blair’s fingertips pressed lightly against his lips. “You don’t have to… I saw how freaked out you were, but there’s no need… you know that, right? It’s not wrong now, and it wasn’t wrong then.”

Jim sighed, knowing Blair was right, but not quite ready to let go of those last fragments of guilt. “Can we talk about it in the morning?” Or, maybe, never.

“Yeah, right, Jim. In the morning.” Blair’s voice was amused. “Okay. How about we get comfortable?” He wriggled a little beneath Jim and their bodies parted tackily with a distinct squelching sound. “Oh, euww…”

Cleaning up with Blair’s t-shirt or a handful of tissues was hardly going to be satisfactory. Jim thought longingly of the wipes in his nightstand. Or maybe a shower... And besides, no way was he sleeping in this bed when there was a perfectly good King sized available. With clean sheets. “How about we go upstairs?”

Another soft peck of Blair’s lips tickled his forehead. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

 


End file.
